


Love in slow motion

by sloganeer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Future, M/M, posh and becks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 17,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of glimpses into the life of Harry Styles, pop star turned fashion designer; his husband, Louis Tomlinson, football legend; and their four adorable children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Columbus, 2019

He gets home later than he wanted, but the rookies wanted to check out a club, and Liam guilted Louis into following along. "We have to watch out for them," he said, because Liam had only joined the Galaxy this season. Louis had been playing with Americans for years now. He knew they had no judgement.

It's after one when Louis gets back to his hotel room, which means it's after ten in LA. The kids will be in bed (hopefully asleep). Harry might even be passed out himself, a long few days of running after three boys under 10 and two dogs. But Louis shucks his shirt, flops back onto the pillows, and calls Harry on FaceTime.

He has to wait four rings, but then there's Harry's face, eyes hooded, hair falling forward in his face. He looks tired.

"I'm sorry, love. Did I wake you?"

Harry hums his yes. "But that's okay. I was trying to wait up for you."

"I don't want you to be tired tomorrow. Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"No," Harry whines. "It's been days, Lou. Days. You promised me we could do this tonight."

Louis will be back in LA by dinnertime tomorrow, but he can't wait either. It's like the longer they're together, the more irresistible his husband becomes. Louis thought he would play football forever. But he's growing tired of the constant travel. It's harder in the US than it was in Europe, and all Louis wants is to be home with his family.

"You can barely keep your eyes open, love." He rolls over onto his side, setting the phone on the mattress next to the pillow where he can curl up, but still see Harry's face. Harry sticks his tongue out at the camera, curling up himself, in their bed, half a country between them.

"I'm good," Harry says, eye slipping closed as he snuggled into their pillows. "Talk dirty to me."

"How about if I tell you what we're going to do when I get home?"

"That sounds nice." 

Louis can just see the arch of his eyebrows, his hair long and shaggy (he's been growing it out again), and his hand resting on the mattress next to the phone, Harry's chunky rings reflecting the light from their bedside lamp. 

"Go to sleep, babe. When you wake up tomorrow, I'll already be on a plane headed home to you and the boys. I'll be wearing your sweater you packed in my bag, thank you. I haven't worn it yet, so I know it still smells like you." 

Louis rolled over on his back. He wriggled out of his jeans and briefs, pushing them off the bed to the floor with a satisfying sound. He didn't need a wank. It would've been nice, but he'd be home to Harry soon.

"First thing, I'm going to kiss you, and then I'm going to need a cup of tea, and then I'm going to push you onto the couch and give you a blow job." Louis squeezed his bare cock and he rolled over and under the covers. "Once the kids are in bed, of course. You know how loud you are, Haz."

Harry didn't answer. He snored, a deep rattle, muffled by the pillow and the miles between them, but Louis heard it all the same.


	2. Milan, 2024

"Don't run," Louis shouts at his children, the three boys racing their rolling suitcases through the automatic doors and to the waiting town car at the curb. Louis has Millie in the baby carrier on his back. She's too big to ride in the front now, and it still makes Louis sad.

The drive to their flat is long enough that Germain and Angelo fall asleep on top of each other in the far seat. Millie babbles on Louis's lap, and Bertie entertains himself quietly with a video game on his phone. 

Louis turns his phone over his hand, tempted to send a text to let Harry know they're coming, but that would spoil the whole surprise. Tomorrow is Harry's 30th, and he has no idea they're here. Harry has been gone two weeks, supervising production for the summer line here in Milan.

He was meant to come home in two days, but Louis couldn't wait. He couldn't miss Harry's 30th. Not when he had to miss Harry's 20th, all those years ago.

"Bertie, hold your brothers's hands, please." Louis leads their tired troop up the stairs, suitcases smacking rhythmically against the marble. Millie is asleep, and Louis hopes she'll stay that way. 

"I'm exbausted," Angelo announces as soon they're inside the flat.

Louis corrects him in a low voice. "Exhausted, bud." He puts his hands on Angelo's shoulders and leads him and his brothers to their rooms. Germain and Angelo share a room with bunk beds here, and they've been bugging Louis and Harry for the same back home in London.

"Can we say happy birthday to Papa?" Bertie asks. "It's after midnight. It's February first."

"I think we all need to sleep first," Louis tells him, tucking him into bed with a kiss on the forehead. "How about in the morning we make him breakfast in bed? Egg and soldiers?"

"Yeah," Bertie says, mouth wide in a yawn. He's out before Louis can turn off the light and close the door.

With the kids settled, Louis wanders back towards their bedroom. He can hear Harry snoring through the door, open just enough to let out the light from the street. 

Harry is spread out on his front, limbs everywhere, hair covering his face, like a mop fell asleep in their bed. Louis leaves his clothes in a pile and kneels naked between Harry's legs. Harry twitches when Louis puts his hands on his thighs, and Harry is running hot, even through the covers.

"Hazza," Louis whispers. He presses his chest to Harry's back and pulls Harry's hair aside to kiss the back of his neck. "Wake up, love. It's your birthday."

"Louis?" Harry reaches a hand back blindly, and when he squeezes Louis's bum, Louis yelps in his ear. 

"Careful with the goods," he says, falling off Harry's back and curling up on his side where he can see Harry's face. "Happy birthday," Louis says, rolling up into a kiss. Harry isn't quite awake yet, but he opens his mouth and lets Louis in.

"But I was coming home in two days," Harry says when Louis lets him go. His eyebrows come together in adorable confusion.

"I know." Louis runs his fingers through the mess of Harry's bedhead. "But your babies insisted. They missed you too much."

"I thought you had training."

"That's the best thing about being the owner instead of the captain." Louis pulled Harry in for another kiss, and he laughed out loud when Harry rolled right on top so they were touching everywhere. "Nobody can say anything when you bunk off to have sex with your husband in a foreign country."

"There's going to be sex?" Harry asked. His lips dragged wet across Louis's chest.

"Can't have a happy birthday without it."


	3. Barcelona, 2012

Harry wants to go back to the hotel after the show, but Niall says he knows the best club in Barcelona, and Zayn nods along, and Harry can't let them go by themselves.

"You looking forward to this?" Zayn asks, turned around in the middle seat, grinning at Harry in the back. 

He shrugs. "It's just a club." Harry's going to sit up in VIP, watch Zayn and Niall dance, drink a lot, and think about how United played Barça at Camp Nou yesterday and Harry couldn't go.

Niall's laugh sounds like a machine gun from the font of the car. 

"What?" Harry says. Zayn shakes his head at him, and as he turns away, Harry sees them bump fists over the console. "What did you do?" Harry reaches for Zayn's shoulder to grab his attention, but the seatbelt holds him back. "Niall, tell me what you did."

Niall leads them past the bouncers at the door, their own burly security team following behind Zayn with his arm around Harry's shoulders. 

"Why do I feel like I'm being escorted to the firing squad?"

"It's a good surprise," Zayn says, his voice humming next to Harry's ear. "I promise."

Harry put his life in the hands of these two boys when The X-Factor threw them together into a band. It's worked out so far. Harry squeezes Zayn's hip and lets himself be carried away on the music and pulse of people.

"We're getting drinks," Niall says, pointing towards the bar. Then he points up, and Harry follows the line of his arm to the balcony, roped off for very important people. "You should head on up, Haz. We'll meet you there."

He narrows his eyes at the two of them, noting how Zayn looks away, and how Niall's smile is too big, even for him. "I'm trusting you," he says. 

Niall rolls his eyes, and then Zayn pulls him away. Harry is alone, in another unfamiliar city, but with a familiar ache in his belly. He trudges up the wrought iron stairs.

Three months on, and he's still thinking about it, that awkward locker room meeting set up by the Manchester United publicist when word got out on Twitter that One Direction was at a game. It was supposed to be a day off for the three of them, not an appearance, but Harry was fast learning he didn't get days off.

Meeting Louis made up for it, though. The way he stared Harry down, topless and in dirty socks, but with a smirk that made Harry feel like the vulnerable one. Louis Tomlinson was even more gorgeous in person. Even more fit than when Harry watched him on TV. Even more unattainable than first place on The X-Factor. 

"Your song is bloody annoying" was the first thing Louis said to Harry. 

When Harry reaches the top of the stairs and slips into the roped off section, the first thing Louis says to him is "Fancy meeting you here."

"Fucking Niall," Harry says. He leans over the railing and spots the two of them at the bar, watching for him and howling with laughter when their eyes meet. 

A hand falls warm on Harry's back, and Louis turns into Harry so his hip is turned out and Harry can feel his breath. 

"It's only that I forgot to ask for your number last time," he explains. Louis flips his phone over in his hand. "We can't keep hoping our away games match up. I want to make plans with you, Harry Styles."

It's the best proposal Harry has ever heard, and in the last two years as one third of One Direction, Harry has heard a lot.


	4. Alderley Edge, 2013

ALMOST HOME, Louis's text reads, followed by a string of emoji Harry won't bother to translate. They probably don't mean anything anyway. Louis just likes messing with Harry's head.

Harry doesn't really get emoji, but he relies on a handful of tried and true: the arrow through the heart, the crying laughing face, the one with its tongue sticking out, and the banana. He sent Louis all of those, plus WAITING FOR YOU.

"Your face does this weird thing when you're thinking about him," Gemma says, wandering back into the room with another bottle of wine. "I thought I had seen all your faces."

Harry says, "Shut up," but he also holds up his glass for a refill. He has a month off from the band, but Louis still has training, games, and other football things to do. He told Harry to stay at the house in Alderley, but Louis's house in Alderley is massive. It's a bloody country estate. 

So Louis told him to invite Gemma to stay. It's been nice, spending time with his sister. They've spent most of that time talking about Louis, actually, and Gemma hasn't even met him yet.

"It's a good face, H!" She flops onto the sofa, kicking her feet up onto Harry's lap. "It's just, you know, annoying that my baby brother is going to get married before me."

"Whoa," Harry says. His phone makes a sound in his hand. "We're not there yet." 

"You're living together!"

"It's not official!" 

Louis gave him a key and the alarm codes, and Harry is in charge of keeping food in the fridge, but they're not actually living together. Harry still has his flat in London, even if most of his clothes are here.

The new text reads, _you better not be teasing me with that banana_. That's the downside of having Gemma stay with them--there will be absolutely no welcome home sex while his sister is in the house. Harry tells Louis this, then turns back to his wine.

"We barely see each other," Harry says. He slumps back against the sofa. "How is this supposed to work if we never see each other?"

"So your lives suck now," Gemma says, "but they won't always be like this. You're in a boyband." She pokes her finger in his cheek. "Boybands get, like, four years. Tops."

"Yeah, but footballers play into their thirties." He closes his eyes, letting himself float on the image of Louis in his thirties, still lean and rangy. Scruffier, maybe. More tattoos, definitely. "Oh god," he groans, eyes snapping open. "What happens when we're thirty?"

Gemma takes a long sip from her glass. "Right. Sure. You're so not official." She rolls her eyes, but before Harry can find a comeback, the front door slams open.

"Hazza!" His voice rings through the house. "Get your tiny butt out here. I need to kiss you."

"Go," Gemma says. "It'll be less embarrassing if I'm not there."

Harry hops off the couch and runs through the halls, coming to a sliding stop in front of Louis, waiting with his bags at his feet and his arms wide open.

"Hi, babe," Louis says. They kiss until Harry gets jumpy about the silence. You can never be too careful with big sisters hanging around. "Are you nervous?" Louis asks.

"I just want you guys to get along." Harry threads his fingers through Louis's and pulls him down the hall. 

"You worry too much." Louis tugs on Harry's hand and stops them before they get to the living room. He kisses the side of Harry's neck, over his jaw, before sweetly on the mouth.

"Yeah?" Harry asks. He feels his chest puff up with anticipation. He can't wait for them meet. He can't wait for Louis to be a part of his family for real.

"Your sister and I been texting for weeks, love." Louis leaves Harry behind with a smirk, calling out, "Gems! Get up and give me a hug!"


	5. Paris, 2017

Bertie is walking now, and if Louis thought it would make his life easier, he was lying to himself. He hefts Germain in the baby carrier, praying the kid stays asleep, and weaves his way around André Leon Talley, eyes on his toddler, slipping away in a room full of reporters and celebrities.

"Sorry," Louis says, knocking shoulders with Kate Moss. 

She says, "He went that way," and points Louis to the left. Up on his tip toes, he just barely spots Zayn, the new pink streak in his hair making him stand out. 

"Thanks." 

By the time Louis reaches the group, Zayn has Bertie in his arms and Perrie has a glass of champagne waiting for him. 

"My goddess," Louis says, catching his breath. He sets the carrier down at his feet, tucking the blanket around Germain a little tighter. He gulps at the champagne and puts his hand on Bertie's back. "Where were you going, bud? I thought you wanted to watch Papa's show?"

"No," he says, before burying his face in Zayn's chest. 

"No is right. I don't think Papa would be happy with you running away."

"We could take him outside to the park. Let him run around." Perrie is wearing a borrowed Lanvin dress and her hair is curled on top of her head. She looks gorgeous, and Louis doesn't want her to get grass stains on her tulle.

"He'll settle down eventually. But thanks, love." 

Bertie usually has one of his grandmothers with him when he comes to one of their events, or he's in his tiny Tomlinson PSG jersey and cheering on Harry's shoulders at games. He can scream and cry all he likes in a football stadium or backstage at a show, but this is Harry's first time walking a runway and Louis's first time sitting in the front row. He'd like to make a good impression for the cameras.

"Sorry about your jacket," he tells Zayn. Louis rubs Bertie's back while he sniffles all over Zayn. 

"I've had worse," Zayn says. "I've had worse from Harry." 

The joke breaks the weird moment of anxiety and anticipation. Louis said goodbye to Harry early that morning, before breakfast, before tea. Harry had to be here to get ready for the fashion show, and Louis needed a few more hours in bed. 

He didn't get them. He got an one-year-old jumping on his chest, and a six-month-old bawling to be fed. By the time they were finally dressed and in the car and made it to the venue, Louis was exhausted. One Direction's hiatus was almost over, and the 2017 season was only three months old. 

As the kids grow up and Harry explores himself outside of music, Louis sees how they could be happy at home, instead of on the pitch. Home isn't football anymore.

Right now, it's Paris, two boys, and friends and family not too far away. It's Harry wearing a custom-tailored suit and walking the runway on uneasy legs, winking at Louis and sticking his tongue out for Bertie's delight. It's his son clapping and giggling in his lap, a sleeping baby at his feet, and his husband walking forward into something new. 

At the last minute, before he turns the corner and disappears, Harry turns around and smiles, and Louis knows that one is for him.


	6. Los Angeles, 2020

"Tell me the kids are asleep," Louis says, as soon as Harry steps into their bedroom. Louis is sprawled on the bed, on his back, on top of the covers. He hasn't even taken his shoes off. He's still wearing his tie. 

That's how Harry knows this is serious.

"They're asleep," Harry says, though Germain was still singing when Harry turned on his night light and said good night. "How about you? Almost there?"

He hangs up his jacket and steps out of his boots, leaving them lined up at the bottom of his closet. Harry puts his hand on Louis's bare ankle as he passes the bed into the en suite.

"No way," Louis says. "We're having sex tonight, Mr. Tomlinson. It's been months."

"It hasn't been months." Harry talks around his toothbrush, stepping back into the doorway. Louis isn't even looking at him.

"Feels like months." 

Harry rolls his eyes and wanders back into the bathroom to spit in the sink. He strips off the rest of his clothes, dropping most of them into the hamper, but hanging up his sheer shirt in the shower to hand wash tomorrow. He throws some water on his face and pulls his wet fingers through his hair, pulling the curls out of the product.

It has been a while--Louis is right about that. When Harry steps out of the bathroom, Louis has kicked off his dress shoes and rolled over onto his belly.

Harry kneels at the edge of the bed. He peels Louis's socks off and runs his hands up Louis's legs to where his thighs meet his ass. He grips Louis in both hands and leans down to nose at the small of his back through his thin shirt.

"Feels good," Louis says. 

"You like that?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Hazza."

With his hands around Louis's hips, Harry pulls him up, just enough to wriggle underneath and unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers, and strip Louis from the waist down. Louis does the rest, yanking his shirt off and tossing it backwards over Harry's head.

Then he settles himself on the bed, arms wrapped around a pillow, his head turned to the side to watch Harry, and Harry knows exactly what Louis wants.

He dips his tongue in the dimples in Louis's back, circling with the tip before dragging the flat of his tongue over sticky, sweaty skin. He squeezes Louis's cheeks and licks down, down the crease of Louis's ass, over his hot hole.

Louis sighs into the pillow, halfway between a breath and a moan. Harry presses deeper, using his hands to spread Louis wider, and when he slips his tongue inside, they both make noises louder.

This is Louis's favourite way to come, which means it's kind of Harry's, too. It's Harry's favourite thing to do for him, but they don't do it as often as they used to because Louis gets loud. He's panting and sweating against the mattress as Harry moves his tongue in and out, and when Harry slides a finger alongside, Louis shouts for more.

"Don't wake up the kids," Harry tells him.

Louis reaches back and grabs Harry by the hair. "Fuck you, and fuck me harder."

Harry shoves another finger inside. He'll give Louis what he wants, but if Louis thinks it's been months, Harry isn't letting him come for a long time yet. 

Stretching up the bed to kiss Louis's shoulder and whisper in his ear, Harry says, "Settle in, babe. I'm not through with you yet."


	7. London, 2016

"You're beautiful," Harry tells the screaming crowd filling O2 Arena to the very top. "Every single one of you. We're going to miss you so much."

"Don't worry, mate," Zayn says, meeting Harry at the end of the stage, dropping his arm around Harry's shoulders. "We all know you've got someone waiting for you backstage."

The girls shriek, the way they only do when Louis is involved. If Harry didn't know better, he'd be jealous. But he knows it's not Louis they like more; it's the two of them together.

"Shall we bring them out?" he asks Zayn. To the crowd, Harry asks, "Can you be quiet? Bertie might be asleep."

"Not bloody likely," Niall says, playing a background riff as they speak. 

Harry can't see Louis from where they're standing, but he had spotted him stage right, bobbing with Bertie's limbs flailing in the baby carrier during "Girl Almighty". During the mid-concert wee break, Harry had demanded a kiss from them both before he was hustled back on stage. He turns under Zayn's arm and calls for Louis to join them. 

This is only supposed to be One Direction's last concert before an extra long break, but Harry can't help but think they might never get back here. He would make music with Niall and Zayn again, but it might never be like this again. 

He doesn't see Louis come out, but Harry hears the volume pick up, the screams accompanying Louis's walk to the end of the catwalk. Louis has his hand on Bertie's tummy where he's hanging on Louis's chest, bright blue headphones nearly dwarfing his tiny head.

Bertie is still pretty young to be coming to shows and games, but Louis insisted he be here for this. Harry feels his face break in a grin when he sees the two of them. Louis was exactly right. This is a moment he wants to share with his family. 

"My gorgeous husband, ladies and gentlemen." Harry slips away from Zayn, meeting Louis almost halfway. He ducks down to meet Bertie's wide eyes, sticking his tongue out when Bertie recognises him. Harry unclips him from Louis's chest to hold Bertie himself. "Thanks, Lou."

"Just don't make me sing," he says, lips brushing Harry's ear. 

"Louis is going to sing the next song with us, lads!"

Zayn doubles over with laughter. Niall starts up "What Makes You Beautiful", which they've already done, but he knows how Louis hates it. 

"I'll divorce you," Louis says into Harry's mic. 

"You're not going anywhere," Harry tells him. 

They tell the kids their plans for the next year, their first year in five without a new album. It's kind of boring, actually. Niall has a few bands lined up in his new studio. Zayn and Perrie have a new house out in the country. Harry and Louis will be lying low. He's looking forward to being a stay at home dad after the last few months of chaos after Bertie was born. 

Harry is looking forward to his future, with Louis's hand at his back.


	8. Miami, 2030

Louis stopped checking Twitter when they landed in America a week ago, but Liam keeps nudging him when Harry updates.

"What did you do, Tommo?"

He stopped replying to Harry's texts. He's sulking a bit, sure, but this is a work trip, and Louis just doesn't have the time. Harry has taken to subtweeting him and posting depressing black and white photos on Instagram to get his attention.

Liam holds up his phone to show Louis the most recent photo: a single banana in a bowl. Louis commissioned that bowl--a purple swirl of blown glass--from a local artist for Harry's 27th birthday, but in black and white, it just looks sad. All the life sucked out.

"He's proper upset," Liam says, taking his phone back, tapping out something.

"Don't get involved," Louis tells him.

"I'm texting Niall. He'll know what's going on."

This scouting trip has been planned for months. Louis and Liam have spent a week travelling down the east coast, watching football. Watching, in particular, a few players under consideration for the Rovers. 

Louis knows perfectly well what's going on. He's almost 39, he's already going grey, and he's sitting in the stands while the kids down on the pitch get to play footie. Harry's better off at home with the kids and his cats. He doesn't need to deal with Louis right now. Louis is doing Harry a favour.

Today is the last game and the last day of meetings. Liam doesn't know it yet, but they're going out tonight, and Louis is getting pissed. He might even drag Liam out dancing. It's been a long time since Louis last went on a date. His best friend is better than nothing.

"Niall says Harry has been baking."

"Oh, fuck." Louis pulls out his phone. This has gone too far. He opens up his texts. He looks at the last one Harry sent, on Wednesday, just three words. 

_You're a dick._

Properly capitalised and punctuated and everything. No emoji, though. No emoji means Harry has stopped trying to impress him.

 _put down the whisk_ , Louis typed. _call me i'm sorry_

After twenty years, four kids, and two transatlantic moves together, Louis should probably know better. But he was a knobhead when he met Harry Styles, and he would be a knobhead for the rest of his life, no matter how much Harry Tomlinson classed him up. 

He couldn't even do the time zone math in his head, but Louis's phone rang regardless, like a victory cry.

"You're still a dick," Harry says.

"I know."

"You're supposed to talk to me about shit like this. What do you think those vows were about?"

"I know, love. I fucked up. Please stop giving away all my secrets on Twitter."

"Don't worry. I have to save something for your 40th birthday temper tantrum."

"Yeah," Louis agrees. "That's gonna be a bad one."

"I'm taking the kids and moving into the bungalow for the entire month of December."

Louis feels something squeeze in his chest when tries to laugh. "Are they asleep?" he asks. 

"Yeah, Lou. It's late."

He knew that. He knew he was too late. "What are you still doing up, babe?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry says. Louis can hear the sheets rustle as he turns over in bed. "Just worrying about how I've wasted the last twenty years of my life on a complete knobhead."

"Never." Louis holds his phone close to get as much of Harry as he can. He puts his head down between his legs where the sound of the game is muffled, and it's only Harry's breathing in his ear.

"Promise?"

"What do you think those vows were about?"


	9. New York City, 2012

Seems like Harry Styles has moved on from starlets to footballers. The One Direction heart throb was spotted at Soho House in New York last night, snuggled up in a booth with Man U's striker, Louis Tomlinson. Reports say Styles had the kale salad before the two shared a plate of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies.

"They were laughing the whole time," a source says. Tommo, 20, spent the whole dinner whispering in the popster's ear. "They definitely looked like a couple."

Another Soho House diner said, "I couldn't see the little one's face, but the tall one had a smile like he was going to burst."

It's not the first time the two celebs have been seen together. After meeting at a United game four months ago, Styles, 18, was photographed shopping on the High Street, wearing a team scarf to show his loyalty. 

When asked about the relationship in an interview with the Daily Mail, the floppy frontman said, "Louis is a lot of fun to watch. I offered him backstage passes in return for a Champions League tickets, but he declined."

Styles was previously linked Caroline Flack, after his band left The X-Factor in third place, and Nicholas Grimshaw, the radio host who has been photographed many times accompanying the younger singer home after late nights out.

Tomlinson, who followed Robbie Rogers out of the closet two seasons ago, has kept a low dating profile. When asked during a post-win press conference if he was dating anyone, the Tommo quipped, "Why don't you tell me?"

Styles and the rest of One Direction, Irishman Niall Horan and perennial sexiest man list-topper Zayn Malik, landed in New York City Sunday for a whirlwind promo tour, including visits to the Today Show and Letterman. 

The footie star was first spotted in the city arriving at One Direction's midtown hotel, wearing an oversized jumper and carrying a single backpack. He practiced with the New York Red Bulls, which sparked speculation that Tomlinson was considering a move to the MLS. 

On Wednesday, he and Styles were photographed at SoulCycle, before leading a pack of paps around the city, stopping for smoothies at Organic Avenue and causing a near riot in the Nike store. Hazza picked up at least two new pairs of his favourite Converse sneakers. 

Tomlinson carried their shopping bags, while the curly-haired singer offered up a taste of his smoothie. Sharing food seems to be a habit with these two. At the Soho House last night, the pair were reportedly eating off one and another's plates. 

Whether Harry and Louis visited the private rooftop pool after their cozy dinner date, neither would say. When they left the restaurant in a private car, Tomlinson was wearing the Burberry coat Styles had been wearing when they arrived. 

The Tommo refused to answer questions, ducking into the backseat of the car first. Styles waited with his hand on the open door and inquired how a pap was enjoying the weather. 

"That's great, man," the cheery crooner drawled. "Have a good night."


	10. Doha, 2022

He sees Harry is logged in as soon as he launches Skype, clicks and connects without sending the usual warning text. It's more fun that way. It takes a few seconds for Harry to notice that Louis is watching them.

Harry is on his knees in front of the couch, back to Louis, hair tied up in a messy bun. Louis can't see the kids, except for what he guesses is Angelo's foot under Harry's arm (the race car slippers give him away). But he can hear the kids. He can hear Bertie building up to a strop and Angelo on the verge of tears. 

"I will turn this computer off," Harry tells them.

Silence follows.

"Hey, babe," Louis says. Three tiny heads pop up over Harry's shoulders. His boys, so far away, but still the first thing on Louis's mind, even when he should be worrying about football.

Harry twists around to give him a smile, and Louis sees right away how tired he is. He clenches his fist in the hotel duvet because he can't touch Harry right now. 

"Hi," Harry sighs. "Think you can keep these three in line while I go do the dishes?"

"What do we say boys?" Louis asks. "Can we be good for Papa?" He watches each of them sit up straighter, and they all nod together. 

"We'll talk later," Harry promises, and he throws Louis a kiss over the back of the couch.

They've been through World Cup years before--the endless practices, the far off friendlies, and then, of course, the games themselves. But they only had the two kids the last time. The first time, it was just Harry and Louis, with some time off from the band, and they spent nearly a month in Brazil together. It felt like a honeymoon, even if England didn't win a single game.

Louis has been in Qatar a week, and there hasn't been enough action yet to keep him from missing everyone. Harry is showing his winter line right in the middle of the round of 16, so they decided it wasn't worth the whole family making the trip. Louis fought; Harry decided.

He'll bring the boys for the finals, but they all know England isn't going to make it that far. They all know this is probably Louis's last chance. 

"Daddy, Angelo stole my robot." Bertie is sitting right at the edge of the couch to be closest to the laptop. Germain looks back and forth between his brothers. 

"Are you sure you didn't just lose it, Bert?" Louis understands now why Harry is hiding in their kitchen.

"I didn't steal it, Daddy!" Angelo pushes Germain backwards as he reaches across to punch Bertie in the shoulder. "His robot was being mean, so I hided it."

"Lads, don't you want to ask me about football?" They're finally old enough to know what Louis does for a living, and not a single one of them cares.

"You talk about football all the time," Germain moans. He sinks down on the couch with his arms crossed.

"All right, loves." Louis smiles and waves to bring their attention back to the screen. Even Bertie is smiling. Louis blows them all kisses. It's close enough for now. "Tell me about how you've been torturing your papa while I've been away."


	11. Athens, 2018

Niall drags him out of the elevator, and they stumble down the hall, Niall walking backwards with both of Harry's hands in his, and Harry trying to put his feet right. He didn't even drink anything tonight, but he feels drunk.

"You're dick drunk," Niall says.

"On my dick or yours?"

"On the dick waiting for you right here." Niall pounds on the door, cackling when Louis's voice rings through the walls. 

"Forget your keycard, love?" He's at the door moments later, pulling it open, the bright grin he saves for Harry turning into a scowl when Louis spots Niall. "Piss off," he says, even as Louis gives Niall a short one-armed hug. "And put your earplugs in. Harry is going to be loud."

"Why do you think I requested the room at the other end of the hall?" Niall salutes them, smacks a wet kiss on Harry's cheek, and dances away.

"Hi, love." Louis tucks his fingers into Harry's trousers, yanking their bodies together, and they fall backwards into the room. They kiss, sloppy with tongues, and Louis's sharp little teeth on Harry's lips.

"Did you see the show?" Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head. "Came straight from the airport."

"How are the kids?

"Ecstatic and ready to run your mum batty all weekend."

Louis turns Harry around, using his love handles like actual handles, steering him towards the bed and tipping him backwards with a kiss planted on his lips. Harry shuffles up, toeing off his boots and tossing his shirt to the floor. 

He gets his first real look at Louis in weeks. Tour since the boys and Zayn and Pezza's girl were born never go longer than three months. But even when the band is just doodling around Europe, Louis's schedule doesn't always match up. 

They probably won't get any time to explore Athens, but Harry doesn't care. He gave up on seeing the sights when they tour years ago. These days, the only sight Harry will climb a mountain for is his husband and his boys.

Louis looks tired, the lines around his eyes deep and deeper, and he probably hasn't shaved since Harry left. They have a nanny to help out, but two kids under three would wear anyone out. 

Harry makes grabby hands at him, prompting Louis to pull off his clothes and crawl between Harry's legs. 

"Help me," he demands, lifting his hips, but letting Louis work his jeans down his legs. 

Once they're naked, all Harry wants to do is roll around on the bed, feel his skin pressed against Louis's. Harry bullies Louis into being the big spoon, and he butts his head back until Louis gives him and kisses Harry across his shoulders. Louis grumbles, but he also sucks a nice big bite at the back of Harry's neck, where his hair will hide it.

Harry wants to keep it for himself. He wants to keep Louis in this room until the last moment when he has to let him go.


	12. Holmes Chapel, 2027

Gemma hasn't arrived yet, nor Louis's mum or any of the girls. Robin took the three boys out to get them out from under foot while Harry and his mum do the cooking and baking for the party tonight. 

Louis and Millie were charged with decorating the front room, but it's been suspiciously quiet for too long. 

Harry pulls out the last pan of cookies, replacing it with a full pan of bacon-wrapped dates, before cranking the heat on the cooker and passing behind his mum kneading bread at the counter.

"I'm going to check on them," he tells her, brushing his hand over her back. 

She smiles up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Harry stops to help her, twisting her streaked hair into the extra tie he keeps around his wrist.

"Cheers, love," she says and turns back to her bread. She's making hot cross buns because Harry asked her to. 

He can't wait for tonight, the first time the whole family has been in the same place in years. Phoebe has even come back from America for the occasion, and Harry knows how excited Louis is to have his sister home. 

Harry spots him in the front room right away, laid out on his back on the sofa, Millie asleep on his chest, Louis's arm thrown back above his head. The boxes of decorations are open in the middle of the room, an artificial pine garland hanging limply from the bannister, a single reindeer standing guard on the table.

Lifting Louis's feet, Harry flops down to join them on the sofa. He pulls off Louis's green Christmas tree socks and digs his fingers into the arch.

Louis grunts himself awake, flailing and rolling Millie towards the back of the couch. She squeaks and clutches Louis tighter.

"Time to party?" Louis asks. 

Harry snorts a laugh. "It's still early. You didn't sleep that long."

"We weren't asleep, right, Mills?" He strokes her hair back, and the two of them share a sneaky smile. Harry puts his hand on her back, and she turns that smile towards him.

"Not sleep, Papa. Nap," Millie says, like there's a difference. This is what happens when it's Louis's turn to be the stay-at-home dad.

"I thought you were going to decorate the tree, kitten." 

She looks at Harry, then Louis, then the fresh tree they picked out last night. "All right." Millie crawls over Louis, reaching for Harry's hand to help her off the sofa. "I do the tree."

Millie finds a box of silver balls, painted with gold stars, and sets to work hanging every single one on the bottom branches, the only branches she can reach.

"Wait till the boys get back and their cousins arrive," Louis says. He shuffles closer to Harry at the end of the sofa, swinging one leg around to trap him. "They'll even things out."

"It's nice and quiet, isn't it?" Harry leans into Louis until Louis gives him a kiss.

"You taste like sugar," Louis says. Harry snuck a few cookies while they were working in the kitchen. He breaks the kiss to say that the cookies are probably cooled and ready to eat now, but Louis surprises him with hands in Harry's hair and firm lips on his mouth.

"I like sugar," Louis says, and they don't stop kissing.


	13. Green Bay, 2015

"I bought you a cheesehead and a beer, and you're still sulking." 

Harry's bottom lip was puffy and protruding. "We're losing," he says, though Louis knows that's not the real reason. 

He wraps his arm around Harry and pulls him into a cuddle. "Maybe next tour." 

"We've played stadiums before!" Harry elbows Niall on his side. "Niall, tell Lou how we've played stadiums before."

"I think he knows, you idiot."

Liam jumps out of his seat with the rest of Lambeau Field, cheering whatever has happened down on the pitch. Louis doesn't get American football. He understands how the game is played, and it's easy to get caught up in a stadium filled with eighty thousand fans. 

But he doesn't know why Harry loves this game when there is a better one with the same name at home. The one his own boyfriend plays even, a boyfriend who is pretty good and famous for being pretty good.

Louis high-fives when Liam demands it, going down the line until he reaches Zayn, who gives up a five with even less enthusiasm than Louis. 

"There you go," Louis says. He plants a kiss on Harry's ruddy cheek. "Now you're tied."

"I'm sorry I'm sulking." Harry twists in his seat, pulling on the strings of Louis's hoodie and dragging him into another kiss. A better kiss. 

It doesn't feel quite safe kissing in the middle of an American football game in Wisconsin, but Louis trusts the boys around them to take up their charge if some American decides to get shirty.

"You're allowed to sulk," Louis says. "But only at home where I can cuddle you proper."

"I'm getting more beer," Zayn announces. Niall stands to let him by, but Harry just twists his body farther, tucking his long legs up onto Louis's lap. His booted feet land on Liam.

"Cheers, lads." Liam pushes them away and stands up as Zayn passes. "I'm going with him. Who wants what?"

"Hot dogs," Niall says. 

"Popcorn," Harry adds.

"Beer," Louis says. "Bring more beer."

The game is long. Louis never notices how long one of his own games lasts when he's on the pitch, but it can't possibly be this long. They haven't even reached halftime yet. 

"Do you guys do this every time you pass through Wisconsin?"

Harry looks dazed, playing with Louis's hair and grinning like mad. Niall answers instead.

"He insists on it. Every time we get even close to somewhere the Packers are playing, Harry already has tickets before Zayn and I can tell him no."

"And you two always find a club and crash the DJ booth, so I think we're even." Harry puts his feet down and turns back to the play, but he keeps Louis's hand in his lap.

"Let's just be happy that we're here," Louis says. "Together."

Harry nods. He looks ridiculous with the orange foam cheese wedge on his head, his curls sticking out and hanging limply. It's not Harry's best look ever, but Louis loves him, and this is what you do when you love someone. You kiss them even when their lips are chapped, and you follow them on their US tour, and you attend American football games in the cold.


	14. Vancouver, 2020

Louis doesn't want to go out. Liam sits at the sad little hotel table, looking down at his phone. The rest of the team has already left. Rodriguez and Callaghan knocked twenty minutes ago to ask if they were coming. 

But Louis doesn't want to go out. He doesn't want to go home. He could live in this hotel room.

"Maybe the Whitecaps will have me."

"What are you talking about?" 

Louis can't see him. Louis is on his back on the scratchy duvet, staring up at the ceiling, and thinking about how he fucked up his life.

"Maybe I could just stay here. Canada is nice."

He feels the bed dip and Liam's hand on his ankle. "If you're worried about being alone in the house, you could come stay at mine." Liam knows that Harry took the kids back to London. 

Liam doesn't know that it's not for work. It's for good.

"He's not coming back, Li."

"What do you mean? Harry loves LA."

That's true. Harry fell in love with the city when the band was still touring. They bought a little shack on the beach--their first house together, even if nobody knew about it. It was better that nobody knew about it. It was their place to get away from the cameras. Louis still regrets selling it.

When Louis was transferred to the Galaxy, it was an adventure for everyone. The boys wanted to see a real beach. Harry wanted to settle down. Angelo was born there, for Christ's sake, but Louis couldn't go back to LA. 

He couldn't be in that cold house, rattling with the echoes of the last time he and Harry talked. Shouted, rather.

"They wanted to transfer me to Dallas." Louis sits up so he can see Liam's face, pulls his knees under his chin. 

"How am I just hearing about this?"

"It's not going to happen. Harry put his foot down. And then he left."

Liam's eyes go sad, mouth turned down at the corners. He shuffles closer, and before Louis can stop him, Liam wraps him up in a hug.

"You're an arse for not telling me."

"I didn't want to think about it until after the game," Louis admits. "We had a right row. He kicked me out."

"Why didn't you call me?"

He flops back on the bed, away from Liam. "I slept in the guest house."

"Lou."

"I know, all right. I've been beating myself up for a week, I don't need you tagging in for a turn."

"You haven't talked to him at all?"

"He let me FaceTime with the boys. Wouldn't even look at the camera."

Liam crawls next to Louis. They keep their hands to themselves and their legs on either side of the mattress, but it's nice having someone this close again. It's nice to breathe someone else's air.

"You know he's only waiting for an apology."

He shakes his head, then Louis had to shove his face in the pillow before his tears escape. "Not this time," he says. "You didn't hear him. See his eyes."

"You can't give up that easily."

"That's the problem, Li." Louis rolls onto his back again. He aches all over. Even the hot shower after the game didn't help. "I don't think I'm the one who's given up."


	15. Mullingar, 2012

Niall drives when they go to pick up Louis from the airport. Harry puts his feet up on the dashboard, dragging his hand through the breeze of the open window, ignoring Niall's recitation of his House Rules, which basically boil down to no nudity and no shagging. 

"What am I doing in bloody Ireland, Styles?" is the first thing Louis says, hands on his hips at the curb, bag at his feet. 

Harry jumps out of the car to hug him, snog him, and carry his bag to the car. He motions for Niall to pop the trunk, then escorts Louis to the backseat, following after. 

"Home, Jeeves," he says, tapping Niall's shoulder. Niall cracks up. Louis just stares at them. 

"Seriously," he says. He kisses Harry and makes Harry wish for a partition. "What are you doing in bloody Ireland?"

"Harry doesn't like to be alone," Niall explains. "He goes mental whenever we get a break."

Harry interrupts before Niall says anything he's not ready for Louis to know yet. "Zayn and Perrie just started dating. It would've been weird to stay at his."

Louis presses his face into the curve of Harry's neck, and Harry feels his fingers crawl up into Harry's curls. "Could've stayed at mine," Louis whispers. 

Harry definitely thought about it. But with their schedules, they've spent a total of six nights in the same bed, and none of those beds have been their own. 

"Besides," Harry says. "Mr. Horan is the best."

"You're the best." Louis's lips buzz over the skin under Harry's jaw. He tugs on Harry's legs, coaxing him up into the seat and onto Louis's lap, stroking the sensitive part under Harry's knee. 

"I'm still in the car, lads." Niall doesn't sound too put out. It's not much he hasn't seen before, and he knows how little time Harry and Louis get together. He has heard Harry complain over many beers. At least Zayn and Perrie have the same management, sending them to many of the same events. 

Harry has started watching all the league games, with the hope of a mention of Louis or a glimpse of him during the highlights. He's lucky Louis is a striker who makes a lot of pretty goals.

"Next time," Louis says, fingers gentle on Harry's cheek, drawing Harry's attention back to him. Louis's other hand is on Harry's thigh. He hasn't lost Harry for one second since they pulled into the airport. "You'll stay with me."

Harry nods. He puckers his lips--begging, he knows, but Louis gives him what he wants. 

"You can even leave some things. If you need some storage space. I'll clean out a closet for you." 

Louis is not subtle. But neither is Harry. 

"I want a closet." He nuzzles into Louis's hair, where he's sweaty, and the sharp line of his jaw, where he's scratchy with stubble. "And five kids. Just so you know."

"I know more than you think, Harry Styles."

Harry hums with happiness. "What do you think about Harry Tomlinson?"


	16. Kingston, 2014

He hears the phone ringing. He wakes up to it, but it stops before Harry knows where he is or what's happening. He groans and rolls over on the bed, wrapping the blankets around him. 

It's too early. Harry knows it's too early because he's not hungover yet. He's still drunk. 

The phone rings again. "All right!" Harry wonders how long it's been ringing. "Stuff it!"

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Harry finds his jeans and the right phone in the back pocket. Ben couldn't even pick up Harry's clothes off the floor after he helped Harry back to his bungalow. 

"Hello."

"Oh, darling, you sound a right mess." Louis sounds pretty bad, too, but Harry is so happy to hear his voice. He rolls around in it. "Happy birthday, babe."

"Missed you, Lou."

Three days in Jamaica for his birthday, with his favourite couples and their kids. Twenty felt more like settling down than a great big piss-up. 

Though they did that, too. Last night, the actual day, Ben and James bought Harry a table of shots, and they didn't get up until they had drunk them all. Harry was a little uneasy on his feet when he got up, but that wasn't new. 

"Did you have fun?" Louis asks. "I told Corden to do you up right."

"I'm still drunk."

"You sound dead sexy. You naked?"

"Loooou-is." Harry flops into his back. He's not, actually, because he needed Ben to help him out of his clothes when he got into bed. 

"I already missed your birthday. Don't let me miss your morning wank, too."

Harry pushes the blanket down to his hips, rubbing his fingertips over the line of hair on his belly. He's not hard, but Harry can feel how Louis could get him there quickly. An intake of breath. The high rasp of his voice. The pet names. Harry is never getting over the pet names. 

"Let me hear you, love." Louis moans in Harry's ear. "It's killing me that I'm not there with you."

"It's just a birthday," Harry says. They didn't know for sure that Louis wasn't going to make the trip until the last minute. Too many media engagements keeping him in Manchester. 

"But my baby is twenty."

Harry laughs at the mournful tone of Louis's voice. "I plan on having a lot more birthdays. Don't you worry."

"Well, I'm not going to miss thirty. I promise you that."

Harry doesn't know where they'll be in ten years, but he thinks about it a lot. He'll still be singing--if Niall and Zayn will have him. Louis might be retired then--coaching, maybe. They'll have a couple of kids. 

Of course, one of them would have to propose first. Harry was sure Louis wanted to do it. There had been moments, especially in recent months, especially since Harry spent Louis's birthday and Christmas in Doncaster, moments that Harry has been sure it was going to happen. 

Then Louis just asked him to pass the HP sauce, and they've continued with their day.

Harry wonders if this is a moment, too, listening to Louis breathe, a few thousand kilometres and five hours away. 

"Are you touching yourself, Haz?" Louis's voice is stilted, and Harry can hear the slapping of his fist.

This is a good birthday, too.


	17. Milan, 2025

"Lemme hold her," Louis whines from the front seat.

"How about you keep your eyes on the road and drive?" It's his turn, anyway. Louis carried Bertie home. Their very first baby, nine years ago, back when they didn't know anything. Harry drove the Range Rover under twenty to the honks and hollers of everyone else on the road. 

When they had Germain, a year later and in Paris, Harry demanded he be the first to hold the baby. He didn't let go of him until they both fell asleep on the couch at home. When Harry woke up, Germain had been baby-napped. Harry found Louis upstairs, holding Bertie up to peer into the crib.

When their third came along, Angelo in Los Angeles, it was Louis's turn with the baby again. Angelo was a Tomlinson right from the start, with Lottie's beautiful blonde hair and his gran's big eyes. 

Millie was Harry's turn.

"Do you think she looks like my mum, Lou?" Harry brushed the back of his hand over Millie's chubby cheeks.

"Doesn't seem likely, babe."

Millie wasn't supposed to happen. They was no plan for another, though they had been thinking about it. Harry wanted to try for a girl. 

"One more time," he begged. But they didn't want to ask Gemma after two, and Lottie was married with her own now. They were thinking about adoption, even started the paperwork after the band made a return trip to Ghana for Comic Relief.

If Harry thought that trip was rough when he was 19, it was devastating at 29, with his husband's hand squeezing his own and their sons kicking around a makeshift football with the kids at the refugee camp.

Harry thought they might find their daughter there, but they found her last year, when they were calling Milan home. Harry was working a lot, and Louis didn't need to be in Doncaster for every Rovers meeting, so they packed up the London house, and everyone moved into the Milan flat.

It was over dinner with friends. The boys were asleep. Louis was making coffee in the kitchen with Leo, and Harry was talking on the couch with Natalia. 

"My baby sister is pregnant," she told him. She had been holding it in all night, and Harry saw the tension fall from her shoulders when she spoke. "She's fifteen."

Her sister had begged Natalia to take the baby, but Natalia didn't want to be a mom. She had built her life around that choice.

"We'll take her," Harry said, before Louis came back with the coffee. They didn't know she would be Millie--they didn't even know then the baby would be a she--but Harry knew it was the right decision.

"Bloody hell," Louis says. Harry watches him squirm behind the wheel. "My mobile keeps vibrating under my ass."

"Language, Lou." 

"Oh, come off. She's asleep," he says. He also twists his head to look at them in the backseat, sticking his tongue out when Harry shoos him away as the light turns green.

"She's brand new," Harry says. "And the world is scary." 

"That's why she chose us, love." 

Harry looks down as Millie blinks her brown eyes open. This is why.


	18. Orlando, 2031

Millie is up on Papa's shoulders. She's braiding his hair and calling for the elephants. 

They're at Disney World, and today is Bertie's birthday, but Papa insisted everyone gets one turn to pick what they do. Millie wants to see the jungle again. 

Bertie wants one of those lollies as big as his head, but before he can step too far away, Dad grabs him around the waist and drags him back to the group. Ger and Angie are way up ahead. Bertie can hear them shouting at each other, and he can see how Dad keeps scanning the park to keep them in sight. 

"Where you going, bud?" Dad asks with a squeeze. 

"Hungry."

Papa turns around and catches Dad's eye. They have one of their silent conversations while Millie pulls on Papa's hair, demanding to walk forward again. The moment happens so quickly, but Bertie is looking for it. Then Papa smiles at Bertie, and he lets Millie steer him back to the front. 

"You ready for lunch?" Dad asks. "Birthday boy's choice."

"Hamburgers?"

Dad sighs. "We had hamburgers for breakfast."

"Are you actually tired of hamburgers?"

"I know it sounds crazy, and I know I said its your day, but my day would go better if you picked a restaurant where your dad can eat a vegetable."

Ever since the band got back together, Papa has been in super training mode. Bertie runs with him sometimes in the mornings. Running is good for the football team and pop stars, apparently. 

"What are you doing here, faggot?"

Everyone around them hears the word, but Bertie feels it in the way his dad goes stuff at his side, and he sees Papa stumble a step, one of his big hands coming up to Millie's back to hold her steady. 

Dad says, "Find your brothers," then he stalks towards the big man in the hat still pointing his finger at Papa. 

Bertie doesn't remember the first time he heard that word, but he remembers the first time he asked Papa about it. He was younger than Millie. He knew his family was different, but before that day, he thought it was because they travelled a lot. 

When he gets back with Germain and Angelo in tow, Bertie sees how a circle has formed around Dad and the man. Papa calls for them. 

"Take your sister," he says, passing her to Bertie. She's so big these days, but her eyes are wet and wide. Bertie lets her cry on his shoulder. "I'll deal with your father."

When Papa says "father", everyone knows he's serious. 

Bertie feels Angelo grab the pocket of his jeans. He hasn't done that since he was 8. 

Germain cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, "Punch him in the nose, Daddy!"

"You're not helping," Bertie says. Usually, people just keep walking. Dad never lets them get off that easily. He always wants the fight. 

Bertie can't hear what they're saying, but he can see Papa holding Dad by the shoulders, and then he sees the man's face go white. It's all over in moments. 

"You should've punched him," Germain says again, as Dad takes Millie from Bertie's arm. 

"We're not talking about this," Papa says. He holds Angelo's hand and walks ahead. Bertie is sure this is another silent conversation, but this time, he doesn't know what they're saying. 

"Hamburgers?" Dad asks. 

Bertie nods, though he's not feeling very hungry anymore.


	19. London, 2020

Harry is soaked, from his hair to his socks. When he gives the boys their bath, he likes to strip down pants, because this happens every time, but Angelo had trouble going down, and Harry was in a rush. 

Bertie and Germain are in the tub, throwing sponges at each other, and at Harry, and they're all wet, half clean. 

"Boys, let's just do this and get to bed, all right?"

When his phone vibrates across the counter, Harry leaves it, but then it goes off again. And again. And it vibrates right off the counter, falling and landing in the shag bath mat. 

"Papa, someone's calling you," Bertie says. 

"Yes, love, I saw it, too."

He doesn't know it's Louis, but it can only be Louis. Louis always did have shit timing, especially when calling across time zones. He woke Harry up in strange hotels at strange times. Of course, then, Harry wanted to talk to him.

"Daddy!" Germain cries out. "Talk to Daddy!"

"Not tonight, honey. Daddy is busy." That's what Harry has told them for a week, a week of Louis back in LA, Harry and the boys in London. He lets them talk on FaceTime as much as Louis wants, but Harry hasn't answered the phone.

The phone keeps buzzing, and Harry keeps ignoring it. He pulls Germain out of the bath first, wraps him up in a towel, then does the same with Bertie, and drains the tub. He tells them to be quiet as they pass Angelo's room on their way to bed. 

Once all three boys are asleep, Harry finds a dozen missed calls on his phone. No voicemails, though. He makes some tea, sits at the kitchen counter, and waits for the next call to ring through.

"Harry, don't hang up." 

"I'm here, Lou."

"Thank Christ. What's happening? What's wrong?" He sounds frantic, and Harry feels bad for leaving him hanging so long. That isn't fair.

"Just bath time. Don't worry. The house hasn't burnt down."

Louis huffs a breath. "Well, I can see that."

Harry feels a jolt through his body. He's too shocked to say anything, so Louis keeps talking.

"Sorry," he says. "I was going to work my way up to that. So, yeah, I'm outside. Around the corner, actually. Zayn lent me his car."

"I can't do this tonight." Harry puts his head down on the cool marble counter. He thought he would be ready to talk when Louis showed up. This was a conversation neither of them had made time for, which was how they ended up here in the first place. 

"I don't want to come inside." Louis pauses, and they listen to each other breathe. "Come outside, Harry. I've got the heater on."

He finds his slippers by the sofa. He grabs his keys and locks the door behind him. He's listening to Louis worry on the end of the line as he walks to the end of their drive and then around the corner. 

Zayn's car is there, under a streetlight. Harry curses him silently for letting Louis show up here without a warning. 

Harry knocks on the passenger window. He can't see anything through the fog, but he can hear Louis say, "Fuck," and he can hear the phone being tossed into the backseat.

"Hi," Louis says, reaching across and opening the door. "Fancy meeting you here."

They both cringe.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. See, this is why it's better if I don't talk."

"The last year proves otherwise." Harry pulls in a deep breath and immediately regrets it. The car is saturated with cigarette smoke. Stale and fresh. "You're smoking?"

"One or two," Louis says, shrugging. Harry hates how his voice sounds when he's lying. "Packs. One or two packs."

"What am I doing here, Lou?" 

"I don't know, Haz. You're supposed to be in LA. That's where we live."

"We don't live anywhere! That's the problem!"

All of the fight goes out of him with those words. It feels too close to the row they had in LA, a week ago, when Harry wondered aloud if Louis had ever wanted kids and Louis accused Harry of forcing him into early retirement. The fight still feels like a cold, dark stone in his belly.

"Can I hold your hand?" Louis asks. Harry nods, but he doesn't reach out. He waits for Louis. "I love you and our kids more than football, and if that's what I need to do to be allowed to come home, then I'll retire tomorrow."

"Bloody hell, Lou, I never asked you to retire."

"Then I don't know what you want."

Harry turns his hand palm up and lets Louis twine their fingers. This way, he can feel the warmth of Louis's hand, he can feel how sweaty and clammy Louis is, but he also feels how they're locked together.

"That's my fault," he says. "I don't know what I want either." Then Harry gives in to how he's been feeling all week, and he drops his head to Louis's shoulder. 

"Baby." Louis's voice is soft and low, and he sounds happy. All these years later, Harry can still make him happy.

"Don't let me fall asleep," Harry says. But the next thing he knows, he's waking up in his bed, and he can see Louis asleep in the armchair next to the window. He can hear the boys waking up: Angelo rambling over the baby monitor, and the other two playing in their bedroom. It sounds like race cars. 

"I can go," Louis says. Harry rolls back to meet his eyes. He looks so tired. "I don't have to be here." 

Harry wraps the duvet tight around himself. He makes himself small on the wrong side of the bed. It feels warm this morning, even though Harry knows he slept alone again last night. 

Not completely alone. 

"Go say good morning to your kids."


	20. Chicago, 2013

Alberto is at the airport to pick him up when Louis lands in Chicago. 

"This is my welcome?" Louis asks, arms outstretched. Of all the big men on Harry's security team, Louis likes Alberto best. But it would've been nice to see the person he travelled across an ocean to see.

It's just him waiting in Arrivals--no crowds clamouring for an autograph, no paps shoving their cameras in Louis's face, not even a kid with a football. The Americans might have heard his name once or twice, but nobody knows what Louis Tomlinson looks like. 

At least that's how it used to be. 

He didn't bother with checked luggage, so Louis follows Alberto through the automatic doors and towards the black SUV waiting at the curb. Alberto is the one who spots the girls--spotting girls is probably two thirds of his job. 

He puts a hand on Louis's shoulder and nudges him to the left. Two teenagers hold their phones up, giggling, pointing. They don't even look away when they see Louis looking. 

He crosses his eyes and throws them a face. 

"That's why he's not allowed to pick you up at airports," Alberto says once they're on the road. "You stick around long enough, and they'll all know your face."

Louis plans on sticking around. 

But this is just first time joining the One Direction tour in America. They talked about it last night, Harry telling Louis that he didn't have to come if he was feeling nervous. 

"I'll be home in eight weeks," he said, but eight weeks, when you've only been together eight months, was too long for Louis to wait. 

"You know, I'm pretty famous, babe," Louis had said. "I think I can handle America."

A text from Harry pops up as the car drives out of Chicago and towards the stadium. "We're trending," Harry writes. 

"What the fuck does trending mean?" Louis asks Alberto. 

"I means we're taking the long way around."

His phone chimes in his hand again. "Fans spotted you at the airport. Word has spread. Everyone knows you're here." While Louis thinks about how to respond, Harry follows up his text with another: "Sorry."

Louis growls in frustration. He rings Harry instead of doing this over text. Whatever this is.

"Niall's out on a balcony," Harry says instead of hello. "He's distracting the crowds, making them sing Christmas carols. Tell Alberto to pull into the south entrance.

Louis tells him. Then he lowers his voice. "Are you okay? I thought we were worried about me. You guys have been doing this for three years now."

"There are a lot of people out there, Lou."

"They don't care about me." Louis hears Zayn's voice in the background. "What did he say?"

"They're holding up Larry Stylinson signs. I think they care a little."

"Who the fuck is Larry Stylinson?"

"I'll tell you when you get here," Harry says, fake cheer in his voice. "See you soon!" And then he hangs up.

Louis kicks Alberto's seat. "Who the fuck is Larry Stylinson?"


	21. Toronto, 2019

"Harry, I love you, but stop talking about our kids, and tell me your dick is hard."

"Um."

Louis stayed up until 2AM in his Toronto hotel room to make sure the boys were asleep before he called. You would think, after seven years together, most of them on the road and apart, they would be better at phone sex. 

"I didn't know we were doing that," Harry says. "I'm cleaning the kitchen, Lou. I have a sponge in my hand."

"Well, put it down, and go get naked."

There's a long pause, but that's just the way Harry talks. Louis waits him out. 

"I didn't say I wasn't naked."

Louis can picture it. Despite what he says, Harry is probably wearing tiny black pants. Their days of naked kitchen sex ended years ago, but Louis dreams sometimes about getting back there when the kids are grown. 

"If we were in bed, Haz, what would you do to me?" Louis props the pillows up against the headboard and gets himself comfortable under the sheet. He's been lying naked in bed for hours since getting back to the room after the lads wanted a few drinks to celebrate their win. 

"Is that how we're doing it?" Harry sounds closer, voice low and soft in Louis's ear. He flicks off the bedside light so he can pretend Harry is right here in the room. 

"Any way you want it, babe."

Harry breathes out yes. "Touch yourself," he says. Louis does. "I want to hear you. Tell me how it feels."

"Not good enough," Louis admits. A wank in the shower does him most days, but not at the end of the season, when they're practicing and travelling and media appearances are ramped up for the playoffs. 

"Just the head," Harry says. "I want to play with the head. Get it nice and wet. I want a taste." He smacks his lips, overly loud so Louis can hear him.

Louis bites down hard on his lip before he bursts into a laugh and ruins the moment. He yanks the sheet off completely, the air conditioned room making clusters of gooseflesh on his skin. Palming himself, Louis cradles his dick against his stomach, teasing the head like Harry asked.

"I was doing this in the shower," Louis tells him. "Almost had myself off, but I knew you'd make it worth it."

"I want you in my mouth."

"Jesus Christ." Louis's hips thrust off the bed, and he smacks his head against the headboard. "Fuck."

"No, not yet," Harry whines. "Lemme suck you. I'll make it so good."

Louis rubs his cock and lets the phone fall to the mattress so he can rub the back of his head, too. "Go on, baby. I'm listening."

Harry's voice is tinny through the phone, but he's still there, moaning for Louis and doing God knows what else, curled up in their bed in California. Louis just wants to be home. This isn't good enough anymore. 

He rolls over and rubs down onto the bed, grabbing for his phone and tapping to get Harry on speaker. "I'm close," Louis says, though he isn't, not really. His head is throbbing, and his ears are ringing, but he's hard, and that's enough these days.

"How about a finger, Lou? Slippery and sliding into you."

"That's it," he says, and he grinds into the mattress, and he can hear Harry sucking on something, and Louis lets himself come. He lets himself go. He lets Harry hear every sound.


	22. London, 2014

Harry wakes up when he feels the bed dip. He blinks his eyes and Louis comes into focus, grinning down at him and holding two cups. 

"I made tea," he says. 

"Ta."

They sit up, snuggle under the covers, and slurp their tea in the quiet morning. It's so nice having a few days at home. Louis has a few days with only light training, which is such a treat. 

"I can't believe my mum is getting married again," Louis says. "And before I even get a chance to propose to you."

"Oh, you've had your chance, bud."

He butts his head against Harry's shoulder. "Don't tease me. It's early."

Harry passes his empty cup back for Louis. "I have to shower," he says. He drops a kiss on Louis's cheek. "Your family will be here in an hour."

He stretches and scratches as he wanders into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth as he listens to Louis switch the TV on, looking for last night's highlights. 

"Are Daise and Pheebs going with you or staying with me?"

Harry leans against the door jamb, toothbrush in his mouth. "Probably best if they stay?" he mumbles. Louis nods. "We'll be looking at a lot of dresses. They'll get bored."

"I don't know why you won't--"

"Don't start with that, Lou." Harry spits and turns on the shower. He ignores Louis and pretends he can't hear over the sound of running water. 

A few months ago, they had Louis's mum and Dan down to the house in Alderley for dinner. That was when Jay asked Harry to help her with her dress. 

"You always look so smart on the red carpet, Harry."

"Of course I can ask my stylist to set up some viewings."

Louis put his hand on Harry's thigh. "Oh my god, why don't you design the dress, love?"

He looked at Louis, then Jay, then Dan, all staring at him expectantly. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Harry wraps a towel around his head and walks naked back into the bedroom. "I know you hate my music, but it's something that I love, it's something that I'm good at, and it's something that I plan on doing for a long time."

Louis looks up, spoon dripping milk, halfway between the bowl and his open mouth. "Did I miss the start of this fight?" He shoves cereal in his face, and when he chews, Harry can see everything.

"I'm a singer," Harry says, yanking on the dresser drawers, looking for pants. "And if you're not happy dating a singer, then maybe I shouldn't be here."

"Who said I wasn't happy dating a singer?" Louis crawls on his knees to the end of the bed. "And I don't hate your music, babe." He reaches out, but Harry doesn't giving him the satisfaction. "Just that one song."

"That one song paid for this flat."

"I don't know why we're fighting!" He flops back on the bed. Harry watches Louis's fingers inch back to his cereal bowl on the nightstand. 

"I'm not a fashion designer, Lou. I just wear what they tell me."

Louis stumbles off the bed, and Harry can't get away fast enough before Louis grabs his hands and wraps Harry's arms around his waist. "I just know it's something you think about. That's all I meant by it."

Someone's phone buzzes over by the bed. 

"That's probably them," Harry says. He pulls away, and Louis lets him go. "I have to get dressed."

"Wear whatever you want, babe. I know you'll look amazing."

Harry gives him a careful smile. They're just clothes. He just wears what he likes, what's comfortable. It's hardly fashion. It's just who Harry is.


	23. LA, 2024

"Something bad is going to happen," Louis says, turning the car into the drive.

"What are you talking about?" Harry rolls down his window to get a better look at the house. He doesn't notice anything unusual. It's still standing. No smoke is billowing from the windows. He considers that a win for leaving Niall at home alone with three boys under ten. 

"Just a feeling. You get these feeling when you're older. You wouldn't understand, babe." 

Harry gives him a smack.

They've been staying in LA for a few more weeks, none of the family ready to go home just yet. Louis is officially retired from football, though he'll be joining Rovers management when they go back to London. The boys will be heading to another new school, and Angelo is finally ready to start Year 1. Harry hopes this move will be their last. For now, they're enjoying the sun.

Louis parks the car, and Harry unbuckles his belt. When he reaches for the handle, Louis grabs him. 

"Wait for me," he says. "I'll get your door." He hops out, rounds the front of the car in a cute stuttery jog, and offers Harry his hand once he opens the door.

"It's been ten years, Lou. You don't have to impress me."

"It's been exactly ten years," Louis reminds him with a kiss. "And I'll do whatever I bloody like."

They did an early dinner to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Louis made the reservations, but Harry made a cake, which is waiting for them at home. He wanted to celebrate with the whole family (and Niall, who's been bumming on their couch for the week). He wanted to celebrate with his family because that's what they're celebrating: the day Harry and Louis made this family official.

"Why is the house so dark?" Louis walks ahead, and he quickens his step up to the door. It's barely 8. They kids shouldn't be in bed yet.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asks, resting his chin on Louis's shoulder. He puts his hand over Louis's, and together, they turn the knob and open the door.

The sudden bright light blinds Harry for a moment, but it doesn't matter because the party announces itself with a cacophonous shout of SURPRISE. 

Everyone they know is crammed into their front room. Angelo is sitting up on Niall's shoulders, but there's Zayn and his kids with their arms in the air, Harry's mum holding up a glass in a toast, and all of Louis's sisters. Harry can't count because everyone is moving, jumping, shouting, but he is sure that all of them are here. Liam's head bobs up above the crowd; he must be standing on their coffee table. 

"What are you lot doing in my house?" Louis shouts at their friends and family. He pulls away from Harry, arms spread wide, going in for a hug with whomever is closest. 

Harry feels his sister's hair brush his cheek as she wraps her arm around his neck and says, "Hello. You good? You look a bit lost." She's laughing at him, teasing him a bit for his wide eyes and confused forehead.

But Harry isn't lost at all. "I'm right where I need to be," he tells her. "Now come help me with the cake."


	24. Doncaster, 2031

"Harry, love!" Jay has a messy spatula in her hand when Harry wanders into the kitchen the morning of the 24th, but he goes in for a hug anyway. "I'm cooking bacon AND sausage for our birthday boy. Would you bake us something sweet?"

"Of course." He finds the bowls and a clear bit of counter, collecting ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip scones. "Speaking of our birthday boy, where's he off sulking?"

"What do you mean?" Jay asks.

Harry turns to lean against the counter. They stare at each other with matching furrowed brows.

"He was already gone by the time I woke up."

Jay's eyes go wide. "I haven't seen him this morning."

"The kids are downstairs?" Harry asks, already walking away from the counter. 

She nods. "I'll check for his car." Jay goes to the front door. Harry heads downstairs to the TV room. The youngest ones are on their bellies on the floor, while Bertie and Doris are sitting at either end of the centre couch. It looks like Ernie is still asleep.

Harry bends down to speak low in Bertie's ear. "You seen your dad this morning?"

"No," he says, twisting around on the couch. "Why?" 

"Seems he went on walkabout for his birthday. Probably be home before breakfast." He reaches down and pats Bertie's chest to settle him down. "Don't say anything to your brothers and sister, yeah?

"Of course," Bertie says, nodding. Harry smiles for Doris, but sneaks out before the rest of the kids can spot him.

Jay looks frantic by the time Harry is back in the kitchen. "The car is there. Which means he wandering around in the cold, and you know he isn't wearing a hat."

"I'll go," Harry says. He's not dressed, but he's wearing joggers and a big sweater. He steps into a pair of galoshes at the front door, grabs his wool coat, a knit scarf, and a hat, because Jay is watching him. "It wouldn't be Louis's birthday without a palaver. Figures he'd save the biggest one for his 40th."

Harry goes out the back, through the garden, and into the field behind the house. It snowed a few days ago, so there are puddles in the grass, and patches of crunchy snow. It's cold, and if it rains tonight, there could be a white Christmas for the kids.

If he can't find Louis wandering out here among the brambles, he'll call Stan next. They went out to the pub last night to meet up with Louis's friends, back home in Doncaster for Christmas. They played a few rounds of darts, got just pissed enough, then came home and tried to have a quiet shag in the guest room. Louis was definitely in bed when Harry fell asleep.

He just needs some space. Maybe he needs some time with his best friend. Maybe he needs to talk about Harry where Harry can't hear. 

Or maybe he's perched on someone's old fence, staring up at the clouds, and waiting for Harry to find him.

"Don't jump," Harry cries. Louis doesn't laugh like Harry had hoped, but he turns, and he smiles, which is the best place to start.

"Knew you'd find me."

"Always do." Harry doesn't even attempt to climb the fence. He leans against it instead, staring up at Louis. "How are you feeling?"

"Old."

"Still hot, though," Harry tells him.

"Is that good enough?" Louis asks.

Harry uses the strings of Louis's hoodie to drag him down into a kiss. "Good enough for me."


	25. Holmes Chapel, 2026

Louis has been hogging Millie all morning. He got up when she woke up, telling Harry to stay in bed a little longer. But Harry couldn't sleep in a cold bed without his husband wrapped around him. He could hear feet on the stairway and excited shouts from downstairs. Christmas had begun, and Harry wasn't going to miss it. 

He's sitting on the floor in front of the tree now, Angelo asleep on his knee. The boy was playing with a wooden train, but now he's nestled half in Harry's lap, half cushioned on top of a pile of wrapping paper. 

Germain is helping Mum in the kitchen, putting on the roast. Harry hopes she put him to work peeling potatoes or rolling pastry. Germain is like Harry in that way--happy in the kitchen and happy to be helping. 

Bertie has his nose in one of his many new books. He and Robin are on the sofa, turning pages and sipping tea in unison. Louis had claimed the huge armchair before anyone came downstairs, and he hasn't let Millie off his lap all morning. 

"She's happy right here," he said, when Harry offered to take her. It sounded like a challenge, but when Harry reached out to comb out the knots in her sleep messy hair, she wailed at him. She didn't stop until Louis cuddled her against his chest, humming and rocking them together.

She hasn't been this sucky in months, but maybe it's being in a new place. They haven't made the trip to Holmes Chapel since before she was born. Mum and Robin travelled to Milan to stay with them a few weeks after, and it's been all FaceTime and photographs since then. 

This is Millie's first Christmas, as well as her first Christmas in Holmes Chapel. Harry is already picturing how much fun she's going to have here, just like the boys before her. Harry gets to live it all over again through Millie. 

Summers at the bungalow, romping around the fields in wellies and big hats. Snow and slush and rain, but also family and good food and a fire for them all to crowd around. Harry's mum will want him to sing some carols, and the kids will groan and pretend to be embarrassed. But that's the best thing about being a dad. 

"You're going to have to give her up eventually," Harry says. Louis shakes his head, his chin resting on top of Millie as she plays with her new stuffed horse. "Eventually, you'll have to get up to pee."

Louis glances at the steaming mug of tea waiting for him on a side table. He shrugs and looks away. Harry has never known his husband to forgo tea. But Harry also knows the draw of a new baby. 

They were happy with their boys, but a girl was always a faraway wish, and when she arrived, both Harry and Louis went a little mad with love. A girl is a brand new thing.

"Exactly what I wanted for Christmas," Louis says, and Harry doesn't know what he's talking about exactly. Maybe all of it.


	26. Charlotte, 2012

"Where are you headed?" Zayn asks, his hand falling away from Harry's shoulders as Harry walks one way and Zayn the other. Niall is up ahead, laughing with the boys in the band. They don't fly until tomorrow morning, so Paul let them go out tonight. Niall found an Irish pub far away from the stadium and the hotel, and they've been mostly left alone.

"Nothing," Harry says. "Nowhere." Zayn raises his eyebrows because he thinks Harry is sneaking away to call Louis. "I promised my mum I'd phone early, all right?"

"Sure, sure. Give Lou a big wet one for me, yeah?"

It's best to let the guys think he's calling Louis anyway. They let him have one of the cars all to himself, cramming into the other in a drunken mess as they head back to the hotel as morning dawns.

"Hi, Mum." Harry coughs and tries that again. "Good morning, so far?"

"Fine, darling. How about you? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I'll sleep on the plane," he says. "I didn't want to miss talking to you again today."

Harry phones his mum at least once a week. It used to be every day, back when they were living in London and recording the album. But life has only got faster and faster.

"Tell me about home," he says. "What's the weather like right now?"

He misses the oddest things. Not just the right kind of brown sauce for his steak or a cup of tea that actually tastes like a cup of tea. But the smell of home, and the feel of his sheets, and even the Tommo poster taped to the closet door in his bedroom. Louis doesn't need to know about that.

"Life never changes here, H, you know that." His mum doesn't sound sad about it, though. There's a smile in her voice, which makes Harry happy. He knows how hard it was for her to let him go.

"Good show tonight," he tells her. They never talk about much on these calls. It's more about hearing a familiar voice. Being in the same moment. 

She hums a question. "Is that what we're going to talk about tonight?"

Harry doesn't know what else she might want to talk about. 

"You don't maybe want to tell your mum about the boy you've been seeing?"

His mother is always one step ahead. It doesn't matter how far away Harry is, how successful he becomes, how much tabloids write about him. His mum will always know everything first.

"His poster is hanging in your bedroom. That's a little embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Mum!"

"Give me his number, and I'll send him a photo. You can see where the lips have been rubbed off." She's cackling now, and as much as Harry's face is burning, his mother's laughter is one of his favourite sounds.

"I am not giving you Louis Tomlinson's phone number."

She goes quiet after his outburst, and Harry has a moment where he wonders if he's said the wrong thing.

"Mum?"

"It's just so lovely to hear you say his name," she says. "It sounds like he makes you happy."

Harry has to admit that he does.


	27. Paris, 2017

"He'll have his own line by next year," Perrie says. Louis has had quite a few glasses of champagne and forgotten what they're talking about. Usually, when the two of them get together, they end up talking about their husbands.

"What's Zayn doing now?" he asks. Harry and Zayn took the kids back to the flat. Louis felt a little bad about letting Harry leave his own after party early, but he insisted. He's been so busy with the show.

"Harry, Lou. Not Zayn. Harry."

Now he's really confused. 

It looks like Perrie is sitting on top of a cloud, holding a glass of golden bubbles and the tiny plate of hors d'oeuvres they've been sharing between them. Her dress is so gorgeous, and Louis leans over to tell her again.

"Next year," Perrie says, her voice slow so Louis can follow. "I want to wear one of Harry's dresses on the red carpet."

"Harry doesn't have a dress."

She throws back her head and laughs, blonde curls shaking free from the sparkly clips. "You're so drunk," she says, dropping her hand to his knee.

"You're one to talk, love."

He's going to feel the champagne in the morning, especially with the way Germain has been waking up lately--earlier and louder and demanding, like his father. With Harry caught up in the plans for today's show, Louis has been left home alone with the two boys. He doesn't even want to think about what will happen when the band goes back on tour.

"I don't want them to go," he whines.

"I know." Perrie talks with her mouth full of a tiny quiche. Louis tried the salmon one, and it was pretty good. Not as good as whatever Harry was probably cooking up at home.

"What are we doing here?" Louis says. "This party is stupid." He stands and brushes Perrie's crumbs off his suit. He downs the last of his champagne, steals Perrie's glass, and drinks hers as well. "Let's go find our husbands."

Harry sent the car back to take them home, which is why he's the best. Louis holds Perrie's hand as she leans into him for support, the two of them waiting on the curb, jackets in hand, giggling at nothing. 

"We should go on tour," Louis says. 

"Yes!" Perrie does a fist pump. "We'll be a duo. You can play the banjo, right?"

Louis blinks at her, trying to follow her ideas as her voice gets higher and her accent gets thicker with excitement. 

"Perrie, love." He puts both hands on her shoulders and stares her down until Perrie goes quiet. "I play football, not the banjo."

"That's okay," she says. "No one will be able to tell the difference."

Once they're in the car and on their way home, Louis remembers what they were talking about before. "What were you saying about Harry's dresses?"

"When Harry starts making dresses," she says, "I'm first on the list."

"Why is Harry making dresses?"

"Because he loves fashion, Lou." Perrie bumps their shoulders, a brilliant smile lighting up her eyes. "We have a lot more of these parties in our future, I'm sure."

It's better than learning how to play the banjo.


	28. Rio de Janeiro, 2020

"Hang on, Lou." Harry gets up off the bed, leaving his iPad and Louis on FaceTime behind. "There's someone at the door."

Louis shouts through the tinny speakers. "Go away, Niall! Harry's having a wank!"

He's laughing to himself when Harry opens the door. It is Niall, which means Louis will be insufferable. He lets Niall tackle him to the bed, and Harry picks up the iPad so they can both talk to Louis. 

"What did I interrupt?" Niall asks. "Tell me it was something good."

"Never enough time for something good on the road," Harry groans. 

"Who are you kidding, love? We barely have enough time for something good at home."

"You two are so boring." Niall steals the iPad from Harry, shuffling back up the bed to get comfortable. "How are the sprogs?"

"Loud," Louis says.

"Where do they get that from, I wonder?" Harry takes this opportunity to brush his teeth and wash his face. It's the middle of the night for them, too early in the morning for Louis, and all Harry wants to do is curl up with his husband and sleep.

Instead, he's on the road, in another hotel room, singing the same songs every night that he sang ten years ago. 

By the time Harry wanders back to bed in his pants, Niall is waiting with his hands folded, the iPad on the side table. 

"What did you say to him?" Harry asks. 

"Nothing," Niall says. "I just explained we had to talk about band stuff."

"Do we have to talk about band stuff?" 

There's another knock at the door, and Harry knows it's Zayn. Harry lets him in, and he can see in Zayn's eyes that it isn't good. 

'You guys are freaking me out."

"Did you tell him?" Zayn asks. Niall shakes his head. They both stare at Harry with sad eyes and pursed lips.

"What the bloody hell is happening right now?" Harry feels like he's going crazy, but they're looking at him like he's crazy. Maybe he fell asleep talking to Louis, and none of this is happening at all.

"Sit down, Haz." Zayn holds out a hand from where he's perched at the end of the bed. 

"No, I don't think I will."

In the end, it's Niall, like it always is, who says what needs to be said. "Simon asked me about the new album tonight, and I accidentally told him we aren't going to make one."

Harry sits down, but only because he knees have stopped working. "Oh."

They've been talking about it since this tour started. Harry has a few songs, and Zayn has a few more, but no one is excited about recording like they used to be. Niall already has a producing job when they're off the road. Perrie is pregnant again. The press keeps asking when Harry is going to make something bigger than a few red carpet suits and gowns for friends.

After this tour is over, apparently.

"We're not breaking up," Harry says.

"Never." Zayn shakes his head, twisting their fingers together when Harry reaches for his hand. 

"We'll call it a hiatus," Niall says. "We'll be back."

Harry hopes he's right.


	29. Holmes Chapel, 2010

His sister pounds on his door, and whatever Harry was dreaming is gone.

"Wake up, loser," she shouts, and then she's gone, a cackling laugh behind her. 

It's Saturday, but Harry is working at the bakery this morning. He usually likes the morning shift. It's not the early morning shift--they don't let him bake anything that customers will eat. But he gets to say good morning to all the grannies buying their weekly coffee cake for after church tomorrow.

The new mums always stop in after their morning walk to buy a cookie or something more decadent to indulge themselves. Harry loves seeing all the little babies and how much they've grown since last week. 

But this morning, Harry rolls over into a ball, pulls the covers a little tighter, and closes his eyes, searching for that dream he lost. He's hard in yesterday's pants, so it must have been good.

He checks the clock on the wall, and there's just time to have a quick wank. Thanks for that, Gemma.

It's less mess to pull one off in the shower, but Harry prefers his bed. His bed is comfortable, warm--especially after a night's sleep--and his bed has the best view in the house.

Harry just replaced the poster on his closet door. He got the new one for Christmas, and though he was sad to see Beckham go, Harry's tastes in older men had changed a little. It was kind of embarrassing that his mum knew this, but Harry didn't care.

He has a brand new Louis Tomlinson poster for his door. In his United kit. Hands on his tiny hips. Harry could stare at his thighs all day. 

But he only has thirty minutes before he needs to leave for work.

Under the covers, Harry wriggles his pants down to his knees, and he rubs his hand between his thighs, up under his balls, but not touching his cock, not yet. He'll try to hold off as long as possible. 

He likes being hard. That low-level feeling of what might come next. He teases himself, touches himself, tells himself he's not allowed to come, and the pain of waiting is delicious. It's even better when there's a room full of people who might catch him. 

Here, though, this morning, in his room, there's only the Tommo to see him with his hand teasing closer to his cock. Harry wonders how the Tommo likes it. He's not even out yet, but Harry has heard the rumours. 

Louis Tomlinson has been a star on the youth squad for so long, it must be impossible to hide anything. He's waiting for the right time. That must be why Tommo hasn't said anything about being gay. 

But Harry knows. Harry knows what he likes. Harry knows that if it was the Tommo's hand around his cock right now, it would be rough with callouses from working out. It would be small--maybe he would need both hands to wank Harry. 

It would be the best orgasm of Harry's life. So much better than coming alone, licking your own fingers, and wiping the rest on your childhood bedsheets. 

When Harry rolls out of bed and smiles as he opens his closet, Louis Tomlinson has a crinkly-eyed smile for him, too.


	30. New York City, 2023

"Ladies and gentlemen, your friend and mine, Mr. Harry Styles!"

He enters to huge applause, and more than a few wolf whistles, which, ten years on, Harry still doesn't understand. He takes a second to bow, say a silent thank you, blow a kiss to the crowd, and an extra special one to the camera, then reaches out his hand just in time to meet Jimmy coming at him. They shake and hug, and Jimmy whispers, "Breathe," in Harry's ear, before they settle into the seats.

"Welcome back," Jimmy says. 

It's been a few years since Harry was on The Tonight Show. The last time he was here, Zayn and Niall were sitting beside him, and his kids were waiting for him in the green room. 

This time, Harry is alone. He's here to promote Fashion Week, instead of a new album, and the kids are probably asleep, but that's fine, because the show is tape delayed.

"Thank you. You're looking well."

"You're too kind." Jimmy turns to the audience. "Did you all see the new suit? Harry made this for me." He stands and does a cheeky turn, dropping his pen to the floor, and bending over to show off the bum.

"Stitched it with my own two hands," Harry says. The audience cheers, and Harry immediately feels guilty. "I'm kidding, kidding. I have an amazing and lovely staff of hundreds who do the actual work. I just doodle weird lines; they make my doodles into clothes."

When Jimmy is sitting behind the desk again, he holds up a photo of Harry last night at the opening gala. The crowd goes crazy again. He's 29 now, married, three kids, but Harry will always be "that guy from that boyband". 

"You save the weirdest stuff for yourself, don't you?"

Harry doesn't think the capelet was that weird.

"Anything to keep people talking, James."

"You don't have any trouble in that area." Jimmy puts the photos away. He leans into the desk. "We both know what we're really here to talk about."

Harry sets his mug down. 

"Tell me about your kids. Got another on the way yet?"

"They're great," Harry says. "Perfect. Terrorizing their dad this week, I'm sure."

"The family didn't make the trip?"

"We couldn't make it work with the boys in school. You know how it is."

Jimmy nods. "Of course."

"With your girls in high school now." Harry turns to the audience with a secret. "My oldest has the biggest crush on Jimmy's daughters. Don't tell him I told you."

Jimmy loses it, laughing behind his hand, falling backwards into the chair. Harry counts every appearance a success if he can get Jimmy to break at least once. When the band did the show, their goal was three-for-three.

"So this fashion thing is working out for you, Styles?"

"It's a lot of fun. I didn't think I would love something as much as I love singing--or my family. But I'm very happy in my second act."

"Maybe we can get you to sing something with the band later," Jimmy says. The Roots play a riff to taunt Harry.

He only smiles. "Maybe."


	31. London, 2014

Nick doesn't notice when they arrive. He gave up greeting his guests at the door an hour ago, preferring to stick close to the bar, giving out hugs and heavy pours as his house fills up for New Year's. The music is loud, the furniture has been moved aside for dancing, and even the dogs are having a great time. Nick can hear them barking in the kitchen.

So he doesn't notice when Harry and Louis arrive, but when he spots them, a familiar tangle of limbs leaning against a far wall, he smiles, grabs a bottle, and heads across the dance floor to say hello. 

Welcome back. They've been home from the honeymoon for a month, at least, but it seems the newlyweds brought the honeymoon with them. Nick hasn't seen a pap shot of the two of them alone since September.

The wedding was a nearly last minute thing. One day, he was having lunch with Harry, who was rambling about flowers and music, but that was normal. That was Harry. The next, Nick had a thick card in his mail, an invitation which only had a date, a time, a map, and a single word imperative: Come! He imagined that was all Tommo. 

After the summer tour, during a lull in the football season, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were married, surrounded by their family and friends and the English countryside. Nick had a dance with one groom and too many drinks with the other. And then life seemed to go back to normal.

Except that Nick couldn't make plans to see Harry without Louis showing up at his side. The two of them were inseparable. If we start the new year the way we end it, the Tomlinsons were starting off 2015 with their arms around each other and their lips attached.

"No kissing before midnight!" Nick crows, shaking his bottle in their faces. They turn together, like a pair who knows the choreography. Nick gets a grin from Harry, a grimace from Louis. 

"I don't think that's a rule," Tommo says. He grabs the two empty glasses resting on a bookshelf behind him. Without a word, he orders Nick to fill them up.

"Sounds like a pretty silly rule, definitely," Harry adds. Nick doesn't know when they arrived, so he doesn't know how much they've had to drink, but Harry's eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed. That could have been the kissing, though.

"Where have you two been hiding yourselves?" Nick asks. He takes his next drink straight from the bottle. 

"The bedroom," Tommo says. Harry's braying laugh throws his head back, his hair shaking shiny in the lights. 

"Cheeky." 

Nick can tell that he's losing them already. Harry has his head resting on top of Louis's, and Nick can see Louis's fingers moving at Harry's side. He's trying to get under Harry's shirt, and he's not being subtle about it. 

"Give me a hug." Nick holds out his arms, and Harry appeases him with a tight squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. 

"Happy Christmas!" he says suddenly. "We haven't seen you since Christmas."

"No, you haven't," Nick says. "But that's all right." He holds out his hand and waits for Louis to shake it. "You two have been busy."


End file.
